Biochemistry Exam: 1 -- Julie: 0

Phew. It’s over. That’s all that can be said about last week. I apologize for the lack of posting, but those pesky exams just got in the way. Because not too many interesting things happen when you’re holed up in the library all day, I thought I would post a few statistics from last week. Keep in mind that last week was the fifth week in a row in which I had an exam, and it was the worst week by far – exam in methods and midterm in biochemistry, but to be completely cruel, the biochem exam was split up over multiple days, so after taking a completely taxing and mind-numbing exam, we all headed straight back to the library to study for the other parts. Definitely not a fan.

All numbers are for the five days from Sunday evening (10/23) through Friday afternoon (10/28):

• hours spent studying in the library: 29
• hours spent studying in apartment: 31
• hours of sleep: 18 hours in own bed; 0.5 hours during oncology grand rounds (oops)
• ounces of diet coke consumed: 124 (significantly less than others in the program)
• number of medical students who encountered my stressed-out wrath when loudly discussing their whorish sex life in the middle of the library while I was trying to study enzyme catalysis: 1
• number of other students who yelled ‘thank you’ across the library when I bitched out the medical student and told her to take her social life elsewhere: 6 verbal thank yous, a few others just applauded
• times chapter on enzyme catalysis was read before I possibly understood a single mechanism: 7
• number of times I muttered “I should have gone to medical school”: 394
• number of times I was jealous of all my friends in the working world: 23
• number of times I kicked myself for not using my BA in Political Science to get a normal job on the Hill: 7
• number of times I contemplated getting appropriate paperwork to drop out: 4
• scary dreams about protein attacks: 1
• number of times I spent calculating exactly how poorly I could do on the biochemistry exam and still have a 3.5 at the end of 2 years of classes: 4
• number of minutes wasted calculating minimum grade which could have been spent studying: 30
• tears shed over biochemistry: surprisingly 0 (that will likely change once the exam is handed back)
• number of times best friend stated he was worried about the state of my mental health: 2
• mornings I contemplated just sleeping through that day’s exam since I was just going to fail it anyway: 4
• number of bags under eyes by Friday morning: 3
• glasses of beer it took at happy hour with fellow students to get me a little overtalkative and tipsy following 18.5 hours of sleep over the past 5 days and consuming only ¼ of a bagel and ½ a peanut butter sandwich in past 24 hours: 3 (so pathetic)

So, you may wonder, what does a PhD student do to celebrate the weekend after the end of midterms? Spent the Halloween weekend dressed up as something completely non-science related stumbling from bar to bar all night and lying in bed with a horrendous hangover all day? Not quite. Catches up on all those hours of lost sleep? I wish (I have lost the ability to sleep in, and was up by 7:30 on Saturday morning after a mere 6.5 hours of sleep -- so disappointing). No, no, instead, the PhD student works on biostatistics problems (exam coming up in 11 days), spends weekend time in the lab running assays, works on a PowerPoint presentation for an upcoming lab meeting, and catches up on transformed cell reading which was ignored over the past week. Thus is the life of a graduate biomedical slave.

Great things come in express mail packages

In case you didn’t already realize that I am the hugest nerd ever, I figured I would just provide a little story to cement that opinion. It’s been a pretty stressful week over here in PhD-land, and next week will surely be worse, mostly filled with studying, so my apologies for the lack of humiliatingly interesting lab stories which I was full of this summer – after this round of exams, I will be spending even more time in lab (is that possible?!) so I’m sure there will be more to report. I’m sure things will have a much more humorous twist once exams are through and I stop being so ridiculously stressed out all the time. Regardless, after a long day in lab and class on Wednesday, I returned back to my apartment and immediately retreated into my room and settled down at my desk for several hours of studying for the oncology exam. My roommate knocked on the door, and asked if I saw the package from Mark that had arrived for me. I immediately jumped up, ran over to pick it up, practically bouncing off the walls – totally ecstatic. You, like my roommate, are probably wondering what kind of fabulous object was waiting for me inside the very large envelope. It was no surprise – I knew exactly what it was – which was why I was indeed so excited. Some kind of fabulous gift to brighten my stressful week? Something extra-special that only my very best friend would know to send? Something even better – Lehninger Principles of Biochemistry!! Yes, I did get this excited over a textbook. A biochemistry textbook, none-the-less. The textbook which we use for our biochemistry class, Voet and Voet’s ­Biochemistry is very hard to understand, and everyone in class who took biochemistry previously (which is everyone in the class except me and one other TBio student) had used Lehninger undergrad and kept talking about how much better it was at explaining the basics and was an excellent supplement to our textbook. Well, having used Lehninger as an undergrad, said best friend already had the book lying around, and mailed it to me, potentially saving my biochemistry grade and exponentially increasing my comprehension of biochemistry (thanks again, Mark!! You’re the greatest!). Truly, I don’t think I’ve ever been that excited to receive something in the mail – like I said, I am definitely the hugest nerd ever.

In other news, I have decided that I should have gone to medical school, because the activities are much more fun. Last night, a typical Friday night for me, I was slaving away in the lab when all of a sudden, ‘80s music was blasting in surround sound. What the heck is going on? Finally I realize that it is the first and second year medical student annual powder puff football game, and it is time for the M08 and M09 pep rally, at which extraordinarily loud ‘80s music is apparently required. After finishing up in lab, I moved to the library to work on the changes to the paper I co-authored on breast cancer and alcohol which had come back from the journal with reviews, and sitting in the nearly-deserted library (the only other individuals in the entire library were two of the masters’ students in my program, studying diligently for biochemistry), and all I could hear were the cheering medical students outside. Upon wandering out to visit a few of the medical students at the end of the game, I found myself wondering yet again what I thought would be so appealing about the PhD process. If I ever come up with a good answer, I’ll be sure to let you know.

Among other useless facts, I actually learned something interesting in biochemistry yesterday. Our professor was saying how 20 or so years ago, he was at a biochemistry conference in Kansas City, and there was a ‘punked out’ graduate student presenting his poster. He stopped to talk to the graduate student, and was then invited to listen to the graduate student’s band play in town that evening. He went to listen to the small, still pretty much unknown group – Offspring. So something else to file away with all those other strange-but-true facts – Dexter Holland, the lead singer of Offspring, has a PhD in molecular biology.

Big Pimpin'

Today in the clinical cancer center, I got pimped. Or, I suppose more like – I became a participant in the pimping process. I know you’re all thinking, “But Julie, why is that worthy of writing about? How is that any different from your normal activities?” Alas, that certainly is the crowd I roll with on the weekends (as long as my biochemistry homework is finished!) but this is a very different kind of pimping than the aforementioned recreational activity. Medical pimping involves the process of doctors publicly belittling medical students, proving that they know nothing and are in no way qualified to be a doctor.

While waiting for the elevator today in the cancer center, Big Pompous Oncologist, M.D., was pimping his third or fourth-year students completing a rotation, asking them about the genetic cause of chronic myeloid leukemia. The medical students stood around, looking at the floor, while Big Pompous Oncologist went on a rant about how unprepared they are to enter the medical profession, and he would never want them as his doctor. Finally, he just yelled in the forum “Christ, Doesn’t ANYONE know what causes CML?” Standing in my corner awaiting the elevator, I muttered under my breath, “a t(9:22)(q34;q11) translocation”. Either Big Pompous Oncologist has super-hearing abilities, or I need to work on muttering under my breath less distinctively, because apparently, he heard me. “Thank god there’s intelligence somewhere in this hospital,” he replied. “How about you say it loud enough so maybe these students can learn something? Or are you just trying to make yourself feel smarter through your unwillingness to share your knowledge with others?” Ouch!

“A chromosomal translocation between 9 and 22, q34 to q11,” I state louder and more confidently. The medical students all had the collective “Ooooh” moment, like the knowledge all just flooded back into their brains. Big Pompous Oncologist wanted mechanisms as well, asking, “What in the translocation process causes CML?” No response from the med students. I hope none of them plan on going into oncology – it’s not like CML is some rare form like hairy cell leukemia that they wouldn’t expect to see in patients. Before being accused of trying to hoard knowledge again, I spoke up. “The translocation results in the Philadelphia chromosome, creating a fusion protein BCR-ABL, in which part of the gene BCR from chromosome 22 becomes fused with the c-ABL on chromosome 5. The BCR-ABL protein is controlled by the BCR promoter, which is constituatively active, creating a problem because ABL is a tyrosine kinase, therefore increasing proliferation and protecting the cell from apoptosis.” Next Big Pompous Oncologist asked about treatment, and finally one of the medical students spoke up, identifying Gleevec as the targeted therapy of choice, but not knowing how it works, once again leaving me to reply how imatinib mesylate blocks the active site of ABL, preventing ATP biding and thereby preventing ABL from phosphorylating.

After belittling his medical students a little more, Big Pompous Oncologist asked what year I was. When I replied that I was a first year PhD, he looked appalled. At that precise moment, the extraordinarily slow elevator finally arrived and I stepped on, just in time to hear Big Pompous Oncologist turn to his medical students and say in disgust: “A first year PhD student knows more than you. A PhD student! Someone who wasn’t able to get into medical school in the first place is now more competent than you. You should be ashamed of yourself; you’re more intelligent than her.” It’s a good thing for my future career that the elevator doors were already closing, because I surely would have punched him in the face. All the PhD students in my program are there by choice because we are committed to research, not because we didn’t get into med school, and I think we are every bit as intelligent as medical students. Like I said, it’s a good thing the elevator was there, because I’m fairly sure that I would have been kicked out of the program for punching him in the face – I don’t think I’m pimptastic enough to get away with something like that.

Nose to the Grindstone

Before I go on my latest disgruntled rant, I’d like to clarify that I really do, deep down, enjoy research and what I am doing. Obviously, I knew (to some extent) what I was getting into by going into a biomedical PhD program. I wouldn’t have taken this path if I wasn’t passionate about my research or if I couldn’t picture myself doing this (with some degree of happiness) for the next forty years of my life (okay, well not THIS, hopefully after several years of a post-doc and then working diligently as an Assistant PI, I will eventually actually get to be a PI and boss around grad students and post-docs of my own). Granted, if you catch me running around the medical center on a typical afternoon trying to do 12 things at once and ask me why I decided to choose the PhD path of life, I will more likely than not answer with something along the lines of, “Because I’m really, really stupid.” But sarcasm aside, I do realize how lucky I am do actually be doing what it was I decided I wanted to do as an undergrad. I was fortunate enough to be accepted to every graduate school to which I applied except one (and that was an entirely disastrous interview day) and had a really tough time deciding between my top two choices. Eventually the decision was made by a coin-toss by my best friend Mark (who also happens to do a lot of reffing in his spare time, thereby making him a coin-tossing professional) and the decision was made (you think I’m joking… but I’m not). Basically, what I’m trying to say is that I do realize how lucky I am to be in my program, and I do ‘enjoy’ parts of it (as much as one can enjoy being an indentured servant of the lab), but being happy to be in a program certainly doesn’t reduce the stress.

That said, I realize that stress is a normal part of every PhD program, particularly those in the sciences, and that it’s basically the weeding-out factor – there are those individuals who can deal with the stress and, provided they do well academically and happen to be competent in the lab and can prove something useful, will get their PhDs. And then there are those who cannot handle the stress, and they are the ones who drop out. I like to think that I will fall into the former category, but I think right now it’s hard enough to focus on getting through the week, let along surviving through six years of this!

Things just keep piling up and it’s reached the point where I don’t even know what should be my focus anymore. As an undergraduate, it was easy. I double majored in biology and political science, minored in math, and was one quantitative analysis class short away from a chemistry minor. On weeks where I was overloaded with work, it was easy to prioritize – I knew I wanted to go into science, so the biology and chemistry classes always came first, and if it meant that I had to half-ass a poly sci paper or not study as much as necessary for a differential equations exam, so be it. But in grad school, everything is important, and everyone tries to convince you that their part is the most important. Is it more important to study for the upcoming Transformed Cell exam or the Biochemistry exam? And what about the Methods exam? Do I put lab work before classes or vice-versa? And as if classes and one lab rotation wasn’t enough, I still have my summer rotation back to haunt me and take up more of my time. The review paper on breast cancer and alcohol epidemiology, on which I am second author, came back from the journal with reviewing comments, and requires a bit of rewriting, by ­Friday. Somehow, I am supposed to fully prepare for three upcoming exams, work diligently in my current lab and be doing background research on why the assay results are turning out the way they are, and continue editing this paper from the summer. I’m not really sure that it’s possible, without the addition of more hours in the day (although I suppose not writing this and getting back to biochem studying would be a step in the right direction).

On that note, I have used up my allotted 30 minutes of non-science time for the day, and must get back to work. And of course, I would like to wish everyone a Happy National Chemistry Week, direct to you from everybody’s favorite disgruntled biomedical graduate student.

"Remember when...?"

It seems pathetic that at 22 years of age, I am starting sentences with “Remember back in the good old days when…”. I’m supposed to have my first job out of college now, slaving away in some menial position all day and living for the weekends, making just enough money to cover rent, food, and the weekend bar bill.

Friday afternoon, sitting in the oncology seminar surrounded by the three other first year PhD girls, I casually asked what everyone’s plans were for the weekend. The resounding answer: studying. We are approaching our third consecutive week with an exam, and every spare moment in which we are not in lab or class is dedicated to reading the 3,000+ page Cancer: Principles and Practice of Oncology book and studying for our Cellular and Molecular Aspects of the Transformed Cell exam. “Remember when we used to go out on Friday nights?,” reminisced one. “I remember the good old days of not coming home until 2am on Thursday nights,” I chimed in, and was met with “Thursday nights we used to stay out until 3, Fridays until 4, and Saturdays I wouldn’t stumble home until 5.” While I can’t say my average weekend was ever quite that intense, I had quite a lot of late nights out, especially junior year (or late nights in at other people’s apartments, as the case often was, since all my friends were seniors and 22 by then, and I was still the little 20 year old without a fake ID who couldn’t go out). Weekends used to be – dare I say it – fun. Sure, I would get up early the next morning to study and be exhausted, but it was worth it. What happened to the good old days?

Sunday morning I found myself in a position similar to the average Sunday back at GW. Alarm going off at 7am, groggily dragging myself out of bed, dark circles under the eyes after a mere 5 hours of sleep. The difference, however – the lack of a good story from the night before. Sure, I went out Saturday night – and by going out, I mean leaving the apartment for an 8pm trip to Safeway to buy groceries for the week. With the exception of the Safeway trip, the entire evening was spent sitting at my desk studying, reading chapter after chapter on chromosome translocations, epidemiology and etiology of cancer, multitudes of proposed apoptosis pathways, etc. Somewhere around 11pm, I hit that mental saturation point and needed a break, so being the obsessed neat-freak that I am, spent an hour vacuuming and scrubbing clean the kitchen and bathroom, and was back to studying from midnight until a little after two. When the old man moved into the apartment next door and realized he was living next to two early-20s girls, he probably expected loud noise on the weekends. What he probably didn’t expect was for the loud noise to come from a vacuum cleaner, but he probably also didn’t see me walking into the apartment wearing my massive backpack stuffed with biochemistry and immunology texts (before you think I’m a total jerk, he is completely deaf without his hearing aids, so I figured if he was asleep with them out, he wouldn’t hear me vacuuming anyways, plus the walls here are really thick and despite being directly in the flight path to National, we can hardly hear the planes overhead).

And thus it was spent – another exciting weekend home alone, isolated in my room studying. Honestly, I don’t understand why they say that scientists are nerdy and anti-social. I think Einstein nailed it on the head when he said, “Science is a wonderful thing if one does not have to earn one's living at it.” And on that note, it’s back to studying and planning things out for the week in lab, with the occasional nostalgic daydream about the life which I once possessed.